


Jonsa Week 2019

by sailorshadzter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is King-Beyond-the-Wall, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jonsa Week 2019, Jonsa week, jon x alayne, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-12 23:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorshadzter/pseuds/sailorshadzter
Summary: in here you will find all 7 days worth of writing prompts for this year's Jonsa Week!
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 122





	1. i see happiness

**Author's Note:**

> day 1 prompt: past, present, future.

She's dreaming again.

Of the long cold nights, where she thought she might freeze to death beneath the paper thin blanket on the straw bed. She's dreaming of hard, violent hands. She's dreaming of screaming voices and hard shakings. Even in her most peaceful sleeps, she's haunted by the past. It comes when she least expects it, even all these years later.

Roused from the nightmare, Sansa sits up in bed, catching her breath as she forces the images from her mind. It's been three years and yet, the past still has it's hold upon her heart. She hates herself for it, it's the weakness in her, it's the blemish to who she is. To who she's become. 

Sansa sighs, slipping free from beneath the warm furs, quietly as she can so she doesn't disturb her sleeping husband. But, Jon goes on snoring even as she tugs her robe on over her long white nightgown. It has grown cold again, though she doesn't notice- she hasn't felt the cold in years. At the opening of the door, the guard jolts, but offers her a bow when she steps into the dimly lit corridor. "Your grace...?" He whispers, taking note of his queen's pale face and wide blue eyes. This isn't the first time he's seen this look- he was here, years ago, when the Bolton's had control, after all. "Are you unwell?" He goes on to ask, softening, and she seems to become herself again, a small smile curving on her lips. 

"I can't sleep, it seems, I thought a walk in the halls might soothe me." She holds up a hand when he offers to escort her, another smile offered to him. "No, I won't be long, I think." And then she's gone, walking down the length of the hall and taking a right at the end, rather than heading towards the stairs. Her feet take her the familiar path towards the room at the end of the hall, rooms that had once belonged to Rickon, back when he had been but a babe. Quiet as she can, she opens the door to the room and steps inside, allowing it to fall closed behind her. 

A fire is dying in the hearth, but the room is warm and comfortable. Against the western wall, a boy sleeps soundly in his bed, his dark curls a mess against his white pillow. One arm is outstretched over his head and one leg is tucked over the blanket he sleeps beneath, his soft snores a perfect match for his father that sleeps down the hall. At the foot of his bed, Ghost lays, though the wolf had opened his eyes the moment Sansa had opened the door. "Good boy, Ghost." Sansa whispers to the ever loyal wolf, reaching out to scratch him behind the ears as he liked before she turns to inspect her sleeping son.

She can't help but to reach for him, brushing a stray curl from his forehead, a warm sense of tenderness welling up within her, as it always does when she looks upon him. Robb was born three years ago, the year of the first spring, the second year of her reign as Queen in the North. Jon had only been home a few months, they married only a few weeks when she realized she was pregnant with Robb. He was born every inch a Stark, little in him of her aside from his tall, thin frame. He would grow taller than even she, every maester boasted. There wasn't a single man or woman within the North that did not toast to their first born Northern Prince, the Young White Wolf that wmilould someday rule them as his mother and father did now. Sansa smiles, knowing the future in store for this son of hers... It was bright and beautiful.

Future... She thinks with a soft chuckle, knowing there had once been a time where she'd thought she would have no future at all. Back then... Back before they had reclaimed Winterfell and even before that still, back in King's Landing... A future had seemed impossible. She would forever be a pawn passed back and forth, tormented and tortured, never free to be anything but who everyone else said she must be. So many names, so many titles she's held over all these years, sometimes she forgets who she is. 

"Sansa?" 

Jon's voice is soft and she jumps, so lost in thought that she hadn't even heard the door open. "I didn't mean to frighten you," he apologizes softly, sinking down to the edge of the bed beside her, his gaze straying for a moment to their sleeping son. "I felt like you needed me... Can't sleep?" 

She has to wonder how he knows her so very well- how perfectly attuned they are to one another, even sleeping he feels that she needs him, even if she would never say so. "Bad dream," is all she has to say before she turns away, returning her gaze to Robb, who has tucked his blanket up to his chin, face turned away from them as he sleeps. "I thought I might take a walk and somehow I ended up here." Jon chuckles and she smiles. There was no where else he would expect her to go- they had finally moved Robb to his own bed and rooms that week prior and it had crushed Sansa to see him off. But, he was growing and he needed to be on his own just as much as they did. Besides, they had accepted a ward, a young boy who was only a few years older than Robb... Sam Tarly's adopted son, Sam, had come to join their household to train for knighthood. Unlike his father, Young Sam showed quite a talent with the sword and with training beneath Brienne and even Jon himself, he would grow into quite the knight someday. "Say..." He turns to look at her, his focus on their sleeping child- he loves the boy as much as Sansa does, his precious first born child, the son he always dreamed of having in his make believe futures. "What do you see for the future?" Her voice is a thread and Jon slips his hand into hers. 

"I see..." He begins, his other hand reaching out to stroke their son's curls, then moving back to touch the end of the braid that hangs over her shoulder. He knows she needs this and so he will give willingly. He'd give her anything. "I see summer days, the warm sunshine on our backs. I see Robb and his brother's wrestling in the courtyard, as Robb and I once did." He's smiling at the memory of it, recalling Bran and Arya's shouts of encouragement as if it had only been yesterday. Those days of the past he once would have given anything to see again... But now, his future just seemed so much brighter. "I see you teaching our daughters to sew, I see Brienne teaching at least one how to wield a sword like Arya and it will be a fight to put her in a dress." It's Sansa's turn to laugh, clapping a hand to her mouth to keep from waking Robb. It is true, Sansa had once dared to dream of the family she would have someday- a son like Robb and a daughter like Arya, perhaps even a redhead like herself. "I see happiness, my sweet wife." Jon whispers, leaning in to brush her mouth with his, a soft, gentle kiss that might have weakened her knees had they been standing. "What do you see?" He asks her, trading the question back to her after a few moments of silence. 

Sansa tightens her grip on his hand and draws it towards her abdomen, smiling when she looks back up into his face. "Truly?" He asks, barely able to keep his voice down, though Robb only shifts and stirs, not truly waking from his slumber. When Sansa nods, Jon's face lights up with a wide grin, a testament to the truth of his feelings. It would soon be as Jon had just said, as they had both once dreamed... Another child to follow Robb, to wrestle and play and bring joy to their lives. 

"I see happiness, too," she finally answers, knowing this moment of happiness, this moment of pure joy at sharing the news with Jon of their new child already growing strong within her... These moments reminded her that she was stronger than she thought. That the past could only hurt her if she allowed it to. 

So, for now... She would keep looking onto the future. 


	2. Multi Color Wolf Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 2: quotes, colors, tropes.

The summer sun is warm and bright, even so early in the morning. 

Sansa can't help but to smile, breathing in the air that surrounds her, ever thankful that she's come this far. It seems like it was only yesterday that she lived within a nightmare of war and fear. Those days... They were long gone and yet still so close.

Sometimes... Sometimes... 

A burst of giggles from below interrupt her thoughts and she's smiling again. 

Below, her children have gathered in the courtyard, Robb and Sam leading the way as they always do. Sam is a boisterous boy of twelve, growing strong with every day that passes. A true sword, Jon has said to her only days before, soon he will be ready for the sword he'll wield as a man. Sam is not theirs by blood, but he is theirs all the same. The boy's hair is golden brown, moreso now that he stands in the bright summer sun.

Robb is just as rambunctious, only seven years old but he's nearly as tall as Sam, who will be short in stature much like his mother. He's tall and slim like she is, but Sansa knows he will grow into his body someday. He is Jon's child through and through, with his dark curls and somber gray eyes. He is a Stark, like the grandfather he never got to know. Clutching tightly to Robb's hand is Cat, their youngest child until recently. She is the single redhead among her children and much as Robb is Jon's copy, Cat is hers. She's two and a quiet child with a quick temper that Jon often says reminds him of her. Beside the older boys, Ned stands with his hand on Ghost's back, the wolf is never far from the children's sides. Where Robb is outgoing, Ned is cautious. He's turned four this year and already he shows signs of an intelligence neither she nor Jon could have imagined. Someday, she knows, she will see him stand beside his brother as Hand to the King. His hair is not as dark as Jon's and when the light hits it, she can see the glimmer of the Tully red. Lyanna is next to Ned, a finger pointing at Sam, her dress dirty and her face smudged despite it being only an hour since the morning meal. She's a tiny little thing, her fierce first born daughter, with her long dark ringlets and sapphire stare. Even at three, she's a spitfire and thoroughly enjoys time spent with Davos, who she affectionately refers to as grandsire. 

Next to the gaggle of children all old enough to stand on their own, Arya sits with the twins in front of her, their silvery hair catching the light. Of all the children, these two were the biggest surprise. Their hair color was even more shocking, the Targaryen genes proving to the world that they were not yet dead. Elaena was the younger of the twins and her eyes waver between the Targaryen violet and a deeper blue, while Benjen's were like that of his sister's Lyanna and Cat. Arya is laughing at something Robb is delcaring and Cat is crying when the two older boys rush off, Lyanna doing her best to run after them. Their shouts and laughter travel along the warm summer breeze and Sansa smiles, wrapping her arms around herself as she watched her children at play. 

"What are you doing sweetheart?" 

Sansa turns, the smile still upon her lips when she catches Jon's eyes. "Admiring our colorful brood of children," she says, pointing down to where Robb and Sam now wrestle and Lyanna cheers them on, a fist pumped high into the air. She's quite like the aunt that has come closer to them, Cat in tow, the twins safely beside Ghost and Ned. "I don't think I've ever seen siblings that look so little of each other." Jon is laughing as he comes to stand beside her, also gazing out to where their children play. 

"I hadn't noticed, but now that you mention it..." Jon is grinning as his eyes sweep each child one by one, from the dark hair to the red and to the silver. "They are quite the odd bunch," he laughs when Sansa gives him a playful punch, but she's leaning into him then and Jon tilts his head to rest against hers, one arm sliding around her waist. "Our multi color wolf pack," Jon says softly and Sansa nods, feeling the familiar sensation of true, unbridled love. It was warm within her, warm and strong, a feeling she had never thought she'd ever experience. It fills her up, threatening to overflow, and she closes her eyes.

In this moment, standing there with Jon, their children just below them, she's happier than she ever thinks she's been. 


	3. Home isn't home without you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 3: winterfell, king's landing, castle black.

The peaks of Winterfell were just within sight, tall, sharp peaks of black stone settled against the snowy backdrop of the North. 

She's come home again, but this time, she's to be alone. On the docks in White Harbor she had hugged Arya goodbye and watched her sail away on a new adventure. In the gardens of King's Landing, she had sat with Bran one last time, where he had told her he was sorry for not seeing the ending of things in time. _Be patient, Sansa,_ had been his final words, just before Sansa had turned to go. She was parted from her siblings yet again, though she supposes she should just be happy she knows they are alive and they are well. Though she knows its selfish of her to want to keep them beside her, Sansa cannot help but to feel put out for being sent back home without those she loved most. Home... Winterfell won't feel like home without them... Without him... 

Jon comes to her mind as he so often has in these weeks since they parted. She can still yet feel the clutch of his arms around her, can still recall the catch in his voice when he softly said her name. It was cruel of fate to lead them to the discovery of Jon's parentage, only to have them forced apart in another way. For how long had they both lived in secrecy of their feelings for the other? Unknowing how the other felt, disgusted with their feelings of tenderness for a sibling, they had never pursued the feelings growing between them. And then... To find out that Jon was not her brother all along, cousin yes, but gone were the ties of sharing a father's blood. She still remembers the night before he left for King's Landing with Daenerys, when he had promised to come home to her, when they had shared more than a kiss inside his chambers. 

But now Jon has been sent to the wall as punishment, another cruel twist of fate, considering there were very few people who believed Jon to be guilty of any crime. 

"Your grace?" 

She looks up, still unaccustomed to this new title that the men have begun to call her by. Though she wears no crown, they call her queen, they've knelt to her that same day in King's Landing when she declared the North independent. It's Lord Royce, still her most loyal of Lords, the man she will call Hand to the Queen. "I've sent a man ahead to ensure your rooms are prepared for arrival," he says and Sansa smiles in her thanks. "We'll be there in a few minutes." Another nod and Lord Royce steers his horse ahead, where sure enough as she lapsed into thought, the peaks of Winterfell have come only closer.

At the gate, the guard cries out to the men below and the heavy wooden gate is slowly opened, allowing the dozen or so men and horses to ride through, Sansa at their center. Inside the courtyard, those who had remained at Winterfell now knelt in the snow, offering deference to the woman they would call queen. Sansa's heart is beating quick as Brienne helps her down from her horse, to stand among those who kneel before her. She wonders if she should address them, wonders if there were words she needed to say, but before she can Lord Royce approaches and soon the courtyard returns to it's normal pace. "Your rooms are ready, my lady," he says softly, calling her as he once did. Sansa smiles and nods, allowing the man to lead her from the courtyard and into Winterfell, the stone walls locking in the heat of the many fires roaring within the rooms. Brienne remains behind, ensuring the horses are stabled and that Sansa's luggage and the supplies sent with her are carefully unloaded from the wagons that are now coming through the gate. 

The rooms Lord Royce lead her to are of course her own, the Lord's chambers that Jon had once had prepared for her. She flinches with the sting of sorrow at the thought of him, her heart aching in her chest as she reaches for the door. When she steps inside, the first thing she sees is Jon.

He's standing before the fire that burns in the hearth, his back to the door, but he turns when he hears the door open. His face breaks into a grin at the sight of her shocked face and behind her, Lord Royce shares with him a secret smile. The North was not about to let their queen be lonely. He quietly closes the door behind Sansa, leaving them alone inside her rooms. 

"I... I don't understand..." She's shaking her head, blinking as wildly as her heart is beating. "How... How are you here?" She's torn between laughter and tears, but her shock out weighs any other emotion she felt right then. 

"Do you not want me here?" Jon asks with a smile and Sansa's shock begins to ebb away, replaced instead with a sense of joy she cannot begin to explain. "You have the most loyal of subjects, my sweet." He takes a step closer to where she stands, still clad in her furs, her blue eyes wide in her ivory features. "They could not stand to see you unhappy and so they conspired to bring me here, rather than send me to the Wall. Bran agreed, of course, though to keep up appearances he couldn't so outwardly say." Now Sansa understands the words Bran had said to her back in King's Landing. "But if you wish me gone..." 

She's throwing her arms around him then and Jon is wrapping her in his embrace, pulling her as close as he can. He breathes her in- she smells of roses and winter, snowflakes melting in her hair. "Never leave me again," she whispers as she buries her face into his neck, the warmth of his body against hers a constant reminder that this was real. "I thought truly I'd never see you again." The pain of that was sharp as a steel knife in her heart, but now it is lessening, replaced by a warm feeling of comfort, of happiness. 

"I will always be here," he says, his words making her raise her face back to his, rosy lips curving with a smile as tears gather on her lashes. "I'll never leave your side again." He leans in and captures her mouth with his, a long slow kiss that speaks the words he's never got to say. When he breaks away a moment or two later, he's as breathless as she is. "I love you, Sansa." He whispers, leaning in to tip his forehead against hers, smiling when he feels her thread her fingers through his curls. "Say you will be my wife." 

"Only if you will be my king." 

When Jon kisses her again, his hands help her shed her cloak before they find their place on her hips, tugging her closer. "I will be anything you ask me to be," he breathes into her ear, his teeth nipping the soft flesh of her earlobe. 

"My King in the North..." Her breath is warm against his skin, the feeling of her lips brushing along his jawline unlike anything he's ever felt before. "We're home," she whispers a moment before her mouth finds his, knowing that after everything they had been through, after everything they've done... They're home and they're safe. 

Winterfell was theirs and finally, so was happiness. 


	4. the truth is darling, id lie to keep you safe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 4: myths, songs, lies.

"You lied to me." 

Her words run wild in his brain, her steely sapphire eyes unrelenting in their glare, her plump lips pursed in a frown. Even now, he's attracted to her and he curses himself for it. He's weak for her and she doesn't even know it. "You lied to me," she repeats with a shake of her head, red hair a waterfall of waves down her back. He's caught her mid evening ritual- the pins have all been pulled from her braids and her single attendant dismissed the moment Jon knocked upon her door. Her nightgown is laid across her bed, ready for her to slip into, her fur trimmed robes laying over the back of the chair nearest the fire. She was readying herself for bed when he came knocking and as always, Jon feels a twinge of frustration that he's not there to share her bed. "Tell me the truth." She barks, pulling him from his lustful thoughts, pushing them as far from his mind as he can. "I saw you together, Jon! You said you bent the knee to protect the North... Was sleeping with her just another way to protect the North?" Her words are sharper than a blade, full of anguish, her blue eyes dark and damp. But she holds it together, she's not going to cry. 

"I don't love her," he says quickly, speaking the words she wants to hear, but the ones she doesn't believe. He knows what she speaks of- just a few nights before, he had told her he bent the knee to protect the North, but this very day she saw them together in the crypts. Sansa thinks she witnessed a romantic moment between two secret lovers, but that's not what she's seen at all. She scoffs, rolling those blue eyes, arms folding over her chest. "I mean it, Sansa, I don't love her."_ I love you._ But he can't say those words. He can't, he can't, he can't. 

"And you continue to lie to me," she seethes, pushing past him to stalk towards the fireplace. 

"I love you!" 

The words burst from his mouth before he can stop them. He can't believe he's said them, he can't believe he's taken it this far. Sansa whips back around, black skirts and red hair swinging as she pins him with her sapphire gaze. "What did you say?" She whispers, voice a thread, hands fisting her skirts at her sides. She takes a single step closer to him, blinking fast, her heart beating even faster.

"I love you," he says again, throwing his hands up in defeat. He's already said the words, there's no taking them back now. "Aye... It's true, Sansa." Jon shakes his head, knowing there was nothing else he could do but speak honestly now. "I think since Castle Black..." He goes on, still uncertain himself as to when the feelings began. Perhaps they began that very day she rode through the gates, bruised and broken. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make things worse between us, but if I am to die tomorrow..." He's unable to finish, cut off by Sansa throwing her arms around him. "Sansa..." He trails off, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair as she sinks into him, fitting so perfectly it's as if they were made to hold each other like this. 

Before he can speak another word, her mouth finds his- a long, passionate kiss that tingles on his lips long after he's returned to his own chambers. "I could die tomorrow, too," she says by way of explanation when she draws back a moment later, smiling sheepishly at him. "I couldn't risk dying without knowing what kissing you felt like." She's wanted to do that for longer than she can recall... Since Castle Black, she realizes with a start, just like him. There had been so many moments, so many times where she had been left wanting more, where she had hoped to feel him wrap her in his arms. It was wrong, she supposes, but in a world such as theirs... A world that was possibly about to end... Maybe it didn't matter any longer. Maybe there was no more right and wrong. 

Jon cups his hand to her cheek and she leans into the touch, her anger gone, replaced instead with a warm, soft feeling inside of her heart. "Tomorrow... If I come back..." _I'll tell you what I should have told you before. _

"When you come back," she clarifies, even though they both know it was possible that either one of them could die, everyone could die. "Not if, _when._" 

"When I come back..." He amends softly, tracing his fingertips along her jaw, leaving fire in their wake. "I'll tell you everything." I'll come home, if just to hold you like this again. There's something else he needs to tell her, something else he needs her to hear. But he kisses her instead, snaking one arm around her waist, palm pressing into the small of her back. 

"No more lies," she says as she slides her hands into his dark curls. 

[ x x x ]

He wakes the next morning in her bed. 

When he rolls over, she's asleep beside him, red hair spread out beneath her head. Across the room, a fire already glows in the hearth, telling him that her ever loyal Brienne of Tarth has already come and went. Carefully as he can, he begins to untangle himself from her and from her bed, though he wished there was a way for them to stay this way forever. Once he's dressed, he leans over her sleeping form so he can brush a kiss against her temple, wondering if he'll ever have a moment like this again.

Straightening up, he quietly crosses the room and slips out the door, taking to Winterfell's silent halls. It's early, earlier than even the morning call, and he finds the corridors empty. Until he reaches his own rooms. 

Daenerys stands before the roaring fire and she doesn't even turn when he comes inside. For a moment, he's angry, for again there she is, appearing in his rooms without permission. "You were with her," she says softly, turning around to face him as he steps into the center of the room. Her violet eyes are dark but they are not damp, this dragon queen does not cry. "What could be our last night alive... And you spent it with her." She's jealous. 

"I love her." Jon says simply. No more lies, Sansa's words from the night before resonate with him. "I've always loved her." No more lies. "Everything I've done... Has been for her." Every moment since that day when she came to him at Castle Black, every single thing he's done since then has been for her. "I'm sorry." He does not call her Dany, he doesn't even call her by name. 

When she's left his rooms with a slam of the door, Jon sinks into the chair before the fire and smiles. 

[ x x x ]

_No more lies._

"I'm sorry," she whispers, blue eyes full of tears as she stares back at him. 

"Don't be." Is all he replies. But he doesn't know, he doesn't know. 

_No more lies,_ she told him that herself, but now the words won't come. 

When he embraces her one last time, she almost whispers the words in his ear. But she can't, she can't make it worse for him. Forced apart yet again, she knows it's only cruel to tell him the truth that's on her lips. And so, she merely hugs him close, breathing him in one final time. He lets her go and she steps back, turning to walk down the long dock towards the boat that will carry her home. She's to be Queen in the North and Jon is to remain in King's Landing, a punishment served by Daenerys Targaryen at the cost of giving up the North. 

On the deck of the boat, she watches him grow smaller and smaller as they sail away, until finally he's gone from her line of sight. It's only then that she puts a hand against the flat plane of her stomach, wondering if she's made the right choice. But she knows this child will never be safe, not if Daenerys Targaryen knew the truth of him. And so she must lie, she must keep this from even Jon, until the time is right.

Someday, she will present her son as the rightful King of the Iron Throne. 


	5. sometimes all you need is a shoulder to lean on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 5: dragons, wolves, birds.

Dragons and wolves, Targaryens and Starks... 

It all seemed meaningless in the grand scheme of it all. 

She sits alone in her solar, perhaps thinking an hour or two alone might do her well. It has not. They have won the battle of the dead, they are alive... Well, some of them are. She won't think of Theon, she_ can't_ think of him. 

At her feet, as if he senses her discomfort, Ghost nuzzles her knee, a silent reminder that she's never quite alone. "Good boy, Ghost," she murmurs as she runs her hand along his snout, the cold, wet nose pressing into her palm a comforting sensation that brings the softest of smiles to her face. She thinks of that morning, of the glint of the silver direwolf in the winter sun... The smell of burning flesh, she's found that it lingers long after you've gone back inside. A chill races her spine and she closes her eyes, breath catching in her chest, her heart beating quickly. Suddenly, the room is spinning and she's afraid. She's so very afraid. 

In the days that have passed since Theon's death, she's not let herself grieve for him. There had been so much to do, so much to ensure was taken care of. How many wounds she had stitched closed, how many feverish foreheads had she sponged? How many children had she clutched close when their fathers had not returned from the battlefield? There had been no time for her to grieve for the loss that was Theon, a loss she had been unprepared for, the pain unspeakable, the ache in her heart unimaginable. 

A new kind of pain that has crippled her, broken her entirely. 

"Sansa..." 

He's been watching for a few long, horrible moments; the realization of her pain, of her suffering, hits him like a punch to his gut. She raises her face to look at him, but Jon isn't certain she can see him, for she's crying so hard. Does she even realize it? He crosses the room in four great strides, sinking down to wrap her into his embrace, the catch in her throat as she softly cries his name breaking his heart into dozens of tiny pieces. She looks as if she's not slept in days and he realizes that she probably hasn't. 

They've been here before, on nights when she came to his room like a ghost in her nightgown, frightened by the nightmares of a past she could not forget. She came so often, he'd memorized the sound of her footsteps outside his door. On days when the whistle of a sword in the courtyard dissolved her into tears, a reminder of that day in King's Landing. 

They've been here before and that makes it all the worse. 

She clings to him and Jon can think of nothing else to do but to gently tug her to her feet so he can switch places with her, he taking the chair so he can instead pull her into place upon his lap. When she's settled, she leans into him, her face buried into the crook of his shoulder, and Jon strokes the length of her long red hair, softly whispering anything he can think of as she cries. "I remember once..." He says, unable to help but to chuckle at the memory, the sound forcing Sansa to raise her head from his shoulder. "We were boys back then... Robb and Theon and me..." He's grinning, still able to recall the way the sun bounced off of Robb's Tully curls and the way Theon had scowled at being taken so far into the forest. "We got lost of course," Jon goes on and to his surprise (and joy) a small smile is curving on her lips. "I thought Father was going to skin us all for straying so far. I think he sent out every man in Wintefell to search for us." His chuckle deepens her smile and his heart skips a beat at the sight of it. "It seems you and Arya had better sense than to join us on that adventure."

"You told us it was haunted by a witch," she reminds him, remembering those days as if they had just been yesterday. "Arya said she wasn't afraid but she disappeared when you three left." They both can remember Arya back then- no older than six, claiming no fear of the witch in the woods, though when offered to go, she had hidden herself in the broken tower. "Theon was so angry, he fell in the mud and ruined his new breeches." Sansa continues and at once her smile fades. She bows her head, thrust back into sorrow at the memory of her friend, of her family. Yet another name she must add to her list, though hers is much different than the one Arya keeps. 

Jon slips his hand into hers. "He was a good man," he says, giving her hand a small squeeze. "A true hero." He thinks of that day, that day when Sansa had come to him at Castle Black. _Theon... Theon helped me escape._ She had told him, wrapped in Jon's own furs, a steaming bowl of soup between her palms. _He saved my life, Jon. He said he would die to get me to you... That you would protect me._ He thinks of that day on Dragonstone, when the dingy had washed onto the shore with Theon inside of it. _What you did for her is the only reason I'm not killing you._ He'd not forgiven him yet back then on the beach, but now he has. Jon only wishes it weren't too late to tell him so. "We will build him a statue in the crypts, so all will know what Theon Greyjoy did for House Stark." 

Sansa stares at him for a long moment before she nods, knowing it was the least that she could do for Theon. He never would call himself a hero, but he was one. He was. 

They sit together a while longer, Sansa returning her head to his shoulder, their hands still clasped. Jon softly recounts another story from childhood, this one a tale of Robb, Theon, and himself daring one another to sneak into the Lord's chambers for swigs of ale, only to be caught by their father. Father... Jon thinks, knowing there was something else he needed to tell her, something else she needs to know... But now that he looks down at her face, he realizes she's fast asleep there against his shoulder. He supposes his secret can wait another day. Beneath his feet, he feels Ghost as he sits up, red eyes blinking at him as if the wolf knows the truth of his heart. He probably does. "I'll tell her, boy, don't worry." He says softly, reaching down his free hand to scratch behind the wolf's bandaged ear- Sansa's doing, of course. 

There's so much to tell her, so much he's longed to say to her... But right then, he's just going to let her sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 6: modern, historical, remix. 
> 
> Sansa Stark, the young and beautiful Northern princess was married to Robert Baratheon, King of the Iron Throne, arranged by the Hand to the King, Petyr Baelish, to secure power in the North for himself. Sansa will be the king’s fifth wife. 
> 
> Trapped in a loveless marriage with an old and aging king, the young queen finds herself falling for one of the king’s favorite attendants, the bastard of the old Targaryen king. Jon Snow was born in the North to an unknown mistress and sent to his father only days before his death. At the urging of his friend Ned Stark, Robert allowed the infant to live and Robert grew to love Jon like a true son. 
> 
> loosely based on the story of henry viii & his fifth wife, catherine howard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly nsfw.

“We shouldn’t-”

Her words are cut off by another kiss, a feverish kiss that weakens her knees. She clings to his doublet, allowing him to maneuver her back until she bumps into the table, smashing the wine jug all over the floor when it falls.

Neither of them even notice.

His mouth strays from hers, lips trailing the line of her jaw, further down until he’s kissing the hollow of her throat, one hand at her hip, the other ghosting along the swell of her breasts at the neckline of her fine silk gown. “Jon!” She breathes his name as his lips follow the same trail as his fingertips, a warmth spreading through her like wildfire. They shouldn’t… But they will. There’s no stopping it now.

They’ve been here before, of course, and further still. Just thinking of their night spent together only weeks ago was enough to weaken her knees. She knows it to be wrong, she knows it to be dangerous, but she cannot deny what she feels for this man. Jon Snow, bastard born of Rhaegar Targaryen, has risen high among the court of his father’s killer, Robert Baratheon. The truth is, one might even blame her own husband for what’s happening now, for it was at his insistence that they spent time together. Robert enjoys watching his young wife dance among the other young people of his court and so from the very beginning, it was Jon he trusted with her. It was Jon that was captain of her queensguard, it was Jon that walked with her in the gardens, it was Jon who’s arm she always hung upon. Jon had been the one to reach out his hand as she came down the dock off the boat the day she arrived in King’s Landing, it was Jon that first knelt to her when she was crowned Queen. In truth, she can’t really think of a moment when Jon had not been there at her side. 

His hand is in her hair, knocking her hood astray, pins slipping from her braids as his other hand snakes around her waist, pressing into the small of her back. He can feel the warmth of her skin through her silk gown and he’s itching to feel her skin against his. Jon knows this is treason, he knows this is stupid. He’s seen what happens in this court when the king distrusts you. How many men has this king loved in the morning and then sent to the Tower when darkness fell? Even his must trusted friends have been tried and found guilty. Even the wife he married at the cost of nearly everything lost her head for suspicions and the confession of a man on the rack. No one is immune to the danger of this king, but Jon cannot stop. He’s drunk on his feeling for her, he’s captivated by her, he’s in love with her.

“Sansa…” The whisper of her name sends a chill down her spine- he only calls her by name in moments such as these, when his hands are in her hair or tracing the outline of her body. He’s hefting her up onto the edge of the table and her hands are scrambling to pull her skirts up around her hips. When he’s inside of her, she claws at his back, legs anchoring around his hips, pulling him closer if that’s even possible. Every one of his movements is met with one of her own and she finds she must bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out with pleasure. The table is scraping against the stone floor, thump, thump, thump, a rythmatic beat in time with every movement of their bodies. “Sansa!” This time her name is a groan, his head throw back as he rides out the waves of pleasure, his hands tightening their grip on her hips.

She’s panting as she leans into him, arms outstretching over his either shoulder, her legs falling from his hips as she sits all the way up, skirts falling back into place. “Shae will have my head,” he whispers with a laugh and Sansa says yet another prayer of thanks for her ever loyal handmaiden. It is Shae that helps to keep them safe from the outside world. It is Shae alone who knows the truth of their relationship. “I’ve messed up your blue silk,” it’s her turn to laugh as she lets him help her slide down from the table, skirts rumpled and sure enough, she sees the small stain on the front of the gown. “And your hair! My love, you look as if you have been up to something.” His arms are winding around her and once again, Jon can feel the tremor of desire rushing through him. So soon after and he’s ready to go again. She’s bewitched him, this Northern girl, with a winter spell that leaves him longing after her.

“You ripped my yellow damask last time,” she reminds him with a mischievous gleam in her sapphire eyes. “I’m not certain I can protect you from her wrath this time.” Jon chuckles as he draws her in for a long, sweet kiss, a kiss that is far from the kiss of a lover. They were much more than that now.

“I think I enjoy the risk,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of her mouth, kissing her cheek, her temple. He would kiss every inch of her before the hour was up, if she’d allow it. “You’re worth the risk.” They both know he means more than just the wrath of Sansa’s handmaiden. He pulls back and their eyes meet, a silent understanding. “I should go… The King…” Robert was out hunting but had been gone for hours now, he would surely return at any moment. Sansa nods, though she longs to shake her head, to tell him to stay. But they could not risk being caught together. She knows better than anyone what her husband is capable of doing, she’s heard the whispers, heard the rumors. Though he’s never mistreated her, Sansa knows of the wives he set aside and the one he had killed when he grew tired of her. She knows what he will do, even to her, if he knew the truth of her relationship with Jon.

“Come back… Tonight, please…” She says because she knows she can’t be without him. Jon chuckle and he leans in to capture her mouth one last time, the ghost of a grin upon his lips. 

“You couldn’t keep me away.”


	7. all's well that ends well to end up with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 7: bastards, royalty, free choice. 
> 
> a canon divergent au where jon is the known bastard of rhaegar targaryen, raised in winterfell by ned stark after convincing robert baratheon to spare his life as an infant. 
> 
> a king beyond the wall x sansa / alayne fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE GOD I WANT TO MAKE THIS MULTI CHAPTER. SEND HELP.

"There he is my sweet..."

Lord Baelish's breath is warm against her skin, his mouth incredibly close to her ear; she can feel his body pressed against her back, far too close for comfort, but she cannot speak as she stands frozen on the spot. He's right, just ahead, the sullen Jon Snow stands. King Beyond the Wall, that's what he's called now, though once he had been her father's ward, once he had just been Jon. Sansa remembers, but she is not Sansa, not anymore. "You must make him fall in love with you... It should be easy enough to do." Baelish goes on, side stepping around her, his cloak rippling with his movements. "Even a man like Jon Snow will have a weakness for a pretty woman, all men do." The look he gives her sickens her and she turns away, instead again focusing her gaze upon the man that stands just across the room.

He's deep in conversation with Lord Royce and a man she doesn't recognize, his dark curls pulled back into a tight bun at the base of his neck. Jon Snow is a handsome man, she must admit, his battle scar giving him a different sort of attractiveness, rather than taking away from it. She's reminded of her first husband, the Lannister imp, who's already ugly face had been marred with a scar just before their union. They've not seen one another in years, she wonders if he'll even know her, though without her trademark red hair, she seems to blend in well among the rest of the world_. I am not Sansa, he does not know me,_ she reminds herself yet again, _I am Alayne now._

* * *

"Your grace," Lord Baelish greets as they approach the trio of men, all whom turn to look upon them. Lord Royce offers her a smile and the knot in her stomach lessens; he's the only one who's been truly kind to her here. He and the other man step away, leaving Baelish and her alone with the young king. "Might I introduce to you my daughter, Alayne." He extends out his arm, beckoning her forward, and somehow, she manages to propel herself the final few steps forward.

As she sinks into the appropriate curtsy, she offers him a demure sort of smile, looking up at him from beneath her lashes as Baelish has instructed her so often to do. "Your grace," she breathes as she returns to her full height and she wonders if he can hear her heart as it beats so wildly within her chest. "It is an honor to meet you."

Jon can't speak, why he can't even breathe.

He's captivated by this young woman that's so suddenly approached him on the arm of the weasel Petry Baelish. She's beautiful, with eyes so blue he could swear that he's looking into the summer sky. Her hair is long and dark, strangely unfitting for her, but he finds he longs to reach out to run his fingers through the length of it. And even stranger, he feels as if he knows her. He feels as if he's met her before. I must be imagining it, he thinks as he finally comes back to the moment, realizing he's been silent for far too long. Lingering just off to the side, Lord Baelish can't help but to smile to himself. "The honor is mine," Jon finally responds, reaching out to take her hand, a spark of energy flowing through him the moment his skin makes contact with hers. He draws her hand to his lips and he presses a soft, warm kiss against her knuckles, like a courtier to a queen, and he's hyper aware of how she holds her breath until his lips leave her skin.

Suddenly, he wants to speak with her without the eyes upon them, without the ears listening. "Walk with me, won't you?" He asks, surprising her, but she shoots Baelish a glance who of course gives a discrete nod and so she smiles and loops her arm through his when he offers it to her. Heads turn as they make their way across the room and out the door into the mid morning sunshine, to walk the gardens of the Vale.

It's growing colder and she knows winter is coming, her family's words ever present in the back of her mind. "I did not know Lord Baelish had a daughter," Jon begins as they take to the first pathway, the once lush gardens are now brown and dying, the most delicate of leaves heavy with the first frost.

"I am a bastard," she answers quickly, side glancing him, realizing in that moment that he does not know her. He would not know Alayne. "Though I am to be legitimatized," she goes on as he steers her towards the center of the gardens, where a great fountain once was the center piece of the place. Now it is but a stone pool among the frozen garden. They come to the nearest bench and when she's settled upon it, Jon sits down beside her, a comfortable distance between them.

"I too am a bastard, you know," he points out and she shakes her head.

"But a King's bastard," she replies. "And a man. It is different for you." She is the true born heir to the North, she is a princess of Winterfell, and yet she still holds no power for herself. Her family is gone, dead to her all these years now, and she's got no options but to trust that Lord Baelish will help her along. She has endured worse than him, that is certain. Her time in King's Landing had toughened her, had changed her. "I have no say in my life."

Jon can understand that. King's bastard or not, he too had little choice in his life. He recalls when the Starks had left Winterfell all those years ago and he, being the Targaryen bastard that he was, certainly could not go. He went to the wall, to Castle Black, and they went South to King's Landing. He can still remember the glimmer of the sun in Sansa's auburn hair as she rode away. "What would you do... If you had a say?" Jon asks and she turns towards him, surprise widening her sapphire eyed gaze. But then she's smiling, cheeks blooming with color as she glances towards her hands where they twist in her lap.

"I would fall in love," she whispers, thinking of what that would mean for her. A man to love her, not her name, not her title. A man who loved her for who she was. A man who would love her as a bastard born girl or as the North's lost princess. "I have been betrothed to kings and married to an imp... I should like to marry a man who loves me." She knows she's said too much now and she turns away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear. "It is a silly dream," she goes on, almost more to herself than to him, as if she is trying to convince herself to believe what she's saying. "I will do as my father commands." She hates referring to Baelish as her father- _Ned Stark was my father,_ she wants to shout, _Catelyn Stark was my mother!_ The lords that snubbed their noses at her bastard status would fall to their knees in remorse if they knew the truth of who she was.

He knows that story.

It was the same story he heard all those weeks leading up to the trip to King's Landing. Sansa was going to King's Landing to marry the future king, Joffrey, a thing she had always seemed most excited about, even if Jon had thought him to be insufferable. Jon blinks as he stares at her, knowing there was no way that this was Sansa, that this was the girl he had been raised beside like a brother. It can't be her, he tells himself with a small shake of his head. "And what is is that your father has commanded of you?" He asks instead, peering at her with those somber gray eyes, his hand itching to reach out and touch hers where it lays in her lap.

"To marry as will benefit my family, as is every father's wish," she replies with a quick shrug.

"And do you have many suitors, Lady Alayne?" He watches as she licks her lower lip, a seductive gesture that spreads warmth from his belly down. "What men does your father parade before you?" He's closer now and she's staring at him with those wide, blue eyes, her rosy lips drawing him in.

"I am a bastard," she reminds him softly, "until I am legitimized, I fear I have no prospects." Her heart is beating wildly within her chest and it's only then that she feels Jon slip his hand over hers. The touch of his hand sends a shock wave through her entire being, a feeling that she wants to experience again and again. He's so very close to her now that she can feel the warmth of his breath with every exhale- but unlike when Baelish gets so close, she's giddy with nerves, rather than sick with disgust.

It's then that he kisses her, a long, slow kiss that when it ends, they're both breathless.

She pulls back, lips tingling, her hand still clasped in his. "I'm sorry," he says at once, realizing he's kissed her without asking, without knowing her beyond this single conversation. Though, somehow it feels as if he's known her all his life. Kissing her had only felt natural, as if he had been waiting to do it all this time.

"Don't be," she says with a hint of a smile before it's her that leans in, capturing his mouth with a kiss that is deeper than the one before. His tongue meets with hers as the hand that once held onto hers slides into place against her cheek, the other one sliding up to tangle into her dark locks. They are as soft as he thought they would be. This time when they break apart, they're both grinning, hearts beating in unison within their chests. Something about kissing Jon felt right- as if she was always meant to do it.

She wonders if she should tell him the truth, it's there on the tip of her tongue, but it's Lord Baelish calling out to them then, catching their attention from across the gardens. Jon jumps to his feet then, despite being a king who rises for no man, springing away from her as if she's caught fire. "I've brought you your cloak, my sweet," Baelish says as he approaches, his smile that of a doting father, but Sansa can see the pleased look in his dark green eyes. The look of a man, not a father. He stoops so he can wrap the cloak around her shoulders himself, righting himself to turn to Jon instead. "At your pleasure, your grace, perhaps you might dine with us this evening."

Jon does not hesitate in his nod and when he's promised to see the pair lately, Jon excuses himself from their company to return to his chambers, where Davos already waits for him.

In the gardens, Baelish can only smile as he slips an arm around her slim shoulders, drawing her in as they make their way across the gardens together. "One hour with him and already he is yours," he says with a chuckle, wondering what his pretty bastard had done to ensnare the King Beyond the Wall so easily. No matter, so long as he was hers, Baelish could care less how she does it. "When he knows your true name, sweet girl, he will go to war and win back the North for you." That is the plan, after all. Jon Snow and his Wildling army would take back Winterfell from the Bolton's in the name of House Stark, in the name of the woman he called his queen. If things went as well as he hoped, when this was all over, it would be him that they called King and she would be his queen instead.

She can't help but to smile, her lips still tingling with Jon's kiss.


End file.
